Jack was sitting on the edge of the tub with his pants rolled up. Tears were threatening to flow, but he refused to give up. It was such a simple thing, he couldn’t understand why cleaning the floor turned into such a disaster. He’d left the mop propped up against the toilet so his hands were free, but instead of turning the nozzles to soak his feet he was wringing them together.
Then she came in, like the savior she always was whether he knew it or not. His head was starting to hurt with the strain, but Gran could read his mind. When he looked up at her with glossy blue eyes, his lips were pursed together in an attempt to keep him from saying anything he’d regret. “I don’t understand why…” he bit his lip to stop the rhetorical question in it’s tracks. Breathe. Breathe.
“Work it out…” he finally said after searching her eyes for all the world’s answers. Jack turned to look at his feet and reached for the hot water nozzle. “Rinse off the dirt.” he was going through the steps out loud, waiting for her hum of approval.
Evelyn watches him closely, every detail mattered. Softly, she made a noise of approval. She wanted to rub his back, kiss his blonde head but she knew he had to focus now. He would always be that wailing child, wrapped tightly in her robe as she fled through the woods and marsh. She would always want to tuck him into her heart, keep him safe from the world that would never understand him.
She watches him turn on the water, hoping he remembers to stop before it gets too hot. There were too many times over the years where he'd nearly scalded himself. She wishes she'd been this careful with her Bram, wishes she'd investigated every pinch, every bruise. Been as furious over every scratch. If she could take it back, she'd put a knife in John's throat before he realized he'd never be able to control Bram the way he wanted to.
This was her chance to make it right. To protect her flesh, even if it meant spilling her own blood. For Bram.
